Of Glory and Of War DOTA
by maskerade
Summary: A Dota Story of the valor of men against the tides of darkness. Read as the armies of goodness battle that which threatens to destroy them.


**Of Glory and of War**

**Chapter One: Reflections**

Purist Thunderwrath adjusted the sword on his back and surveyed the grounds before him. It was such a peaceful, tranquil place. A definite haven for living things. And yet, in only a few moments, this seemingly beautiful world would be shattered with the onset of war… and its consequence of death.

The Omniknight ran a glove-clad hand through his fair blonde hair, his face grim as he weighed various strategies in his head. The war had not been good to them. When the creatures of darkness banded together to form the Scourge, the various lands took no notice. They refused to believe the Scourge posed a threat to the peace of their kingdoms. Then the Scourge forces showed up at their different doorsteps and proceeded to wipe everybody out. The slaughter and carnage that followed haunted many a man's dreams. The stories of the beasts struck fear in all. It was then the remaining nations banded together to form the Sentinel Alliance, determined to push back this unspeakable evil.

But the damage was already done. The Scourge had pushed their way into Night Elf lands, pillaging everything in sight. Now, they were at the Night Elves' doorstep.

"Don't look so glum Purist," said a deep guttural voice nearby, "it disturbs morale." Purist turned to find Yurnero standing next to him. An Orc blademaster whom many reverently called the 'Juggernaut', Yurnero stood a whole head taller than Purist. His red muscles bulged from his lithe frame and his eyes gleamed wryly at his ally. On his back was a large oversized blade. Purist did not know much about this wandering warrior except that the Orc was an amazing fighter. When Yurnero fought, he danced.

"I can't help it my friend," said Purist, "the Scourge have planted their base right across this river. In a few moments, over five thousand ghouls and skeletons will charge past this river and attack the only stronghold the Night Elves have left. What lies between them are a couple of damaged towers, and my army of a thousand." He gestured to the many treants and magi that awaited his command. "I have much to worry about you see."

Yurnero laughed, a bellowing sound that filled the skies. "You see! You worry about nothing! They are only five thousand." His eyes glittered as he said this, "Only more for me to kill."

"He's right," said a feminine, chilling voice from behind them. Luna Moonfang walked towards them, her Nightsabre panther padding silently next to her. "They are merely five thousand. And while they outnumber us, we possess the skills to crush them." She was clad in the dark flowing armor of the Night Elves. Her glaive was strapped to her side.

"We merely have to hold," said Luna, a ghostly echo of the words Furion had told Purist just the night before. Furion was the last Prophet the Night Elves had, and he was their leader in these troubled times. He had met Purist the night before to discuss a daring strategy.

"This is our last stand," old Furion had said, his voice weighed down with his years, "We have lost the centre path to the Scourge and they are massing on the East to crush us there. We cannot allow that… the Ancient needs to be protected."

"Yet what can we do?" Purist had asked.

"The centre is still safe. They do not have the people near enough to attack there. No, they will come from the East with everything they have. That is where you will fight. Leave the West to me. I will lead forces to destroy their base from that flank. I only need you to hold the East young Omniknight. Do not let them into our lands! Do not let them touch the Ancient!"

"But the odds against us are--"

"Are merely odds! If you believe in yourself, in your comrades, then no foe shall pass you!" thundered Furion. "You can do it Purist Thunderwrath, You have gained my trust and respect these past battles and I know I can count on you. You need only to hold the line."

Still bewildered, Purist had dipped his head in acknowledgement. "It shall be as you say Prophet."

Now, Purist was not so sure about his chances. Could he do it? Could he handle this responsibility? The fate of the Night Elves was on his suddenly small shoulders.

"Purist! Look!" Yurnero interrupted his somber thoughts. Purist followed Yurnero's gaze across the river. He made out many dark figures coming into view. Many hundreds of them.

_The Scourge had come. _

Purist examined the army behind him. He had his thousand Night Elves, treants and magi. They were strong troops, proud and capable. They would have to be stronger to face such a host.

In front of these soldiers were his generals, many here for different reasons, personal or otherwise. They were all heroes in their own rights. Apart from Yurnero and Luna, there was the Anti-Mage Magina, the blind Night-Elf of mysterious origins; the bounty-hunter sorceress Lina Inverse, who agreed to help for monetary gains; and his beloved Traxex, the drow-ranger. An archer from Underdark, she had grown sick of her kin's evil ways and ran off to join the Sentinel's cause. Purist had met her in a battle and fell in love with her determination and spirit. What she saw in him though, he would never know.

"Seems they have brought heavy artillery for this battle," mentioned Traxex, slowly stretching her muscles in preparation. The other generals were similarly getting themselves ready for the battle ahead. Magina was waving his two crescent-swords in a series of deadly exercises while Lina sorted out the many pouches she had on her bodice. She began humming tunelessly.

Purist nodded and glanced at the army across them once more. The Scourge army had stopped at the edge of the river; its generals appearing to survey his own.

"The Doombringer, Pudge and a Magnataur… no shortage of muscles there," he observed, "And Kel'Thuzad as leader." Sure enough, among the many generals and ghouls stood a figure who was once thought merely a legend. Kel'Thuzad, the Lich. A sorcerer of immense frost powers, he was the biggest threat to the Purist's army. Beside the Lich was the infamous Chaos Knight, clad in full armor on top of a beastly-looking mount.

"Nessaj…" Yurnero whispered. Purist snuck a look at the Orc and was surprised at the tension on his face. Furthermore, the blademaster was gripping his sword tightly. Purist did not press him. Rather, he strode towards Traxex, seeking closeness before the fight started.

"How goes the preparation?" he asked the ranger, holding her hand. Traxex gave a bright smile at the man.

"It goes well. Many of the Scourge will die this day," she said.

"Just don't die along with them," warned Purist.

Traxex shrugged. "Whatever happens happens… this is war. I could do with one of your patented speeches about now."

"A speech? Now?"

"No better time for it," said Traxex, "Your men need fire in their blood. They need to see a fearless leader."

Purist stared at the woman for a while, before giving in with a loud sigh. Then, he walked to a vantage point and rested a steady gaze upon his troops. Yes, they needed a morale boost desperately.

"People of the Alliance!" he cried out, his voice carrying throughout the air. Silent ensued. The soldiers were listening.

"People of the Alliance!" continued Purist, "Across that river waits the Scourge army. It is an army bent on our destruction. They are an enemy that will not hesitate to kill us all! They are monsters who seek to ravage our lands and people!

"No quarter will be given! No mercy will be granted! There is nothing but death for us if we lose! We must fight hard and fierce! Or we will perish and our people will perish! Like cornered rats we must fight! For where can we retreat to? This is the final stand!

"I will not lie to you! The Scourge outnumbers us greatly! They have units that can tear down our buildings in seconds! Their monsters are terrifying and deadly! And yet, I believe we can prevail… We _will_ prevail! This is our land, our home, and we do not welcome invaders!" A ragged cheer rose up.

"We will strike down the enemy! We will tear them limb from limb!" The cheers began to grow.

"VICTORY WILL BE OURS! THEY WILL NOT TOUCH THIS LAND!" roared Purist and the army roared with him. It was a cry of defiance and celebration. It was a cry for war.

A distant horn sounded from across the river. Purist whirled around and saw the Scourge begin to cross it.

"To arms Sentinels!" he ordered, "Lina! Stay behind the front lines and support with your spells! The rest of you to your teams! Stay close and do not let the enemy pass!"

The army responded immediately.

Traxex approached the Omniknight with a grin. "See," she said, "fire in the blood."

"Stay behind the front lines and help Lina out," he replied. Without warning, he hugged her fiercely. "Gods be with you. Come back to me safe."

"Fight well beloved. I'll see you on the battlefield," she smiled once more, "We'll see who kills more this time."

Purist found Yurnero already waiting at the front lines, at the edge of the river. The Scourge forces were already half-way to them, the bloodthirsty ghouls rushing headlong in mindless thrall.

"We will have to pull the front line back," Purist said to the Orc, "That will give us time to charge the ghouls before they leave the river." Yurnero did not reply. "Hey Yurnero, are you listen--"

"I will attack now," said the swordsman.

"What? By yourself? That's suicide!"

Yurnero rested a stony gaze on Purist. When Purist looked into his eyes, he saw nothing but suffering inside. What was this all about? It was insane!

"It may sound selfish I know, but this is a battle I have to fight alone."

Yurnero reached out a clawed hand. "It has been an honor fighting by your side General. And I am sorry to leave so soon. May we meet in better times."

Purist looked sadly at the Orc's outstretched hand. Then shook it with his own, both gripping each other tightly in an unshakable bond. "Fight well my friend," he said.

"_En Tadyei,_ my friend. May your blade forever be sharp." Yurnero released the grip and turned towards the approaching army. Suddenly he grinned and said, "I bet I can kill at least a thousand."

With that, he sprinted forth to meet the Scourge army. Purist had never seen such speed before. In mere seconds, Yurnero had reached the first ghouls and with a bloodcurdling war-cry, launched himself at them. The ferocity of the attack slowed the entire Scourge charge and the army's movement faltered for a second.

This was it, Purist thought. He raised his broadsword over his head. "SENTINELS!" he bellowed as he began his run.

"CHARGE!"

Yurnero wrenched his blade out of the ghoul's face, before slashing it downwards across another ghoul's chest. There seemed no end to them. When he charged headlong into the apex of their advance, he managed to disrupt the lines for a while. But the Orc was only one man and the enemy was many. Soon, he was surrounded by his foes.

How many had he killed now? Yurnero wondered as he sliced off the face of another ghoul, black blood splashing onto the water at his feet. A claw reached out for him and he jumped back, his sword hacking through someone's neck. There were too many for any form of respite. And yet, he had to push through towards the Chaos Knight. That was his ultimate goal, everything else was secondary.

He had due cause to hate the Chaos Knight. It was Nessaj after all, who had killed his comrade-in-arms Mangix, and dishonored the warrior. Yurnero had dueled with Mangix the Pandaran Battlemaster before; and both had been impressed with their opponent's skills and gallantry. They had been fast allies ever since, fighting for the Sentinel forces. But then tragedy struck in the disastrous battle for the Middle Grounds. The Scourge forces had destroyed all but one tower, where Mangix and other allies were desperately defending. The Battlemaster was a God-like figure, his blade cutting down a swathe of enemies with each swipe. To approach him was to die. The grotesque Lifestealer Naix appeared from the swarm of enemies and seeing the fearsome Pandaran, moved to engage him. That battle between Pandaran and ghoul was fast and furious. Mangix was expertly avoiding most of Naix's clumsy attacks, but what the massive ghoul lacked in speed, he made up in strength. Mangix lost his footing for a moment and Naix's large claw landed on his arm. Then as if playing with a fragile doll, Naix easily tore the arm off him. Mangix tumbled back in shock and pain but still stood his ground. With a loud cry, he slammed the earth beneath him, releasing a shockwave that rocked Naix to his knees. Then with astonishing speed, Mangix thrust his blade through the ghoul's chest, slicing it neatly upwards and out. The Lifestealer fell lifeless to the ground and the wounded Mangix started to retreat. Yurnero himself was about to throw in a healing ward for him but before the Pandaran could walk two steps, a bluish bolt flew through the air and slammed into his head. Stunned and weak, Mangix could barely stand. It was then Nessaj rushed through the horde in his war-horse with a triumphant cry, slashing his corrupted blade across the Battlemaster's neck, beheading him with ease. Yurnero could only watch in utter helplessness as the Chaos Knight and his forces pulled down the last tower, Mangix's body still lying headless next to it.

Yurnero could not forget that scene of utter desolation. Thoughts of revenge fueled his body with strength and he charged into the swarm of ghouls once more. Taking out a shorter sword from his belt, he stretched out both arms… and spun. It was a devastating move, and any creature that tried to get to him died. It was halfway through this technique that Yurnero saw him. That bastard on his warhorse.

"NESSAJ!" he shouted and jumped over several ghouls, his thoughts only on his prey.

"Calm yourself!" an unseen voice rasped from beside him. Yurnero could see nothing of the speaker but yet knew who he was.

"Rikimaru! Don't engage him! He is mine!" the Orc warned.

"I will not touch him," the voice replied, "but you will need to think this through. Do not fight him in rage. Calm yourself!"

Yurnero took a quick breath and steadied his mind. The Satyr was right, he had to fight with a clear mind and heart. "I thank you my friend. The bloodlust is gone. I am alright for now."

"Good… Then fight well, I will see you soon." With that, the voice disappeared. Yurnero grinned and ran his sword into another ghoul, before pulling it out and beheading another two more monsters. Then with his clear mind, he took his short sword and in a swift motion, threw it at Nessaj's warhorse. The blade writhed through the air and thumped into the horse's eye, killing it instantly.

The Chaos Knight felt his horse collapse and smoothly dismounted just as the horse fell to the ground. He looked up and saw the Orc Blademaster standing before him.

"The legendary Juggernaut! It is an honor!" Nessaj called out, then pointed at his dead mount. "Though the meeting could have been more conciliatory!"

"Draw your blade fiend and we shall fight!" Yurnero replied to which Nessaj smiled slyly.

"Yes," the Chaos Knight said as he slid his weapon out of his scabbard, "let's fight."

Rikimaru ran through the chaos and slaughter unnoticed. It wasn't just because of his small size. No, Rikimaru possessed an extraordinary skill – the ability to become invisible. Once heir to the Satyr race, he was trained by the most powerful of his warriors. It was their wish that he lead this proud race into an era of peace and tranquility. But the Scourge came and that wish was left scattered in the winds. Oh the Satyrs battled the Scourge with everything they had, but inevitably fell to their numbers and might. In the end, many of his brethren had perished in the invasion, or driven mad…becoming wild beasts. Rikimaru himself had barely escaped. When he reached friendly lands, he trained himself up, honing his skills to perfection, becoming a deadly assassin. He then joined the Sentinels for no other reason but revenge for his race. He offered his services in exchange for free reign to do whatever he wanted in battle. The result was this unseen killer whom only Furion and Yurnero knew about, this master assassin whose mission was to end the lives of generals. It did not hurt when he was allowed to maim and destroy any Scourge unit he meets too.

The Satyr dodged past several ghouls and continued his sprint. It was a simple enough tactic – strike off the head of the snake and the snake moved no more. All he needed to find… was the head. He had seen the giant Magnataur and Pudge at the front lines, decimating Sentinel troops with ease. And right behind them was the DoomBringer Lucifer and his enormous flaming sword. All muscle but where was the brain? Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a lone figure standing away from a Scourge Tower.

There!

The Lich was alone, guarded by only a few ghouls. Rikimaru sneered at the sorcerer's audacity, all safe and comfortable from battle. The Lich wasn't even near a Tower! Well, he would regret that mistake, Rikimaru thought as he ran towards Kel'Thuzad.

He treaded between the Lich's guards and stood confidently behind his back. This was too easy. He slipped his weapon out of its sheathe. The blade was a Stygian Desolator, a dagger that could cut through anything. Many lives had been given to the blade. Kel'Thuzad would be the next.

"Die!" he whispered and stuck out his weapon.

The Stygian Desolator struck cold ice. Rikimaru's eyes widened as his attack failed. Frost armor? But how? Then he saw the Lich's eyes and the amusement writ there. He knew! Rikimaru thought and stabbed at him again. Yet for all the magical properties his Stygian possessed, it could not pass through the icy wall. Kel'Thuzad raised a hand and a cold bolt flew out, striking Rikimaru full in the chest. Immense cold flared throughout his body and he cried out. Instinctively, he threw out a smoke bomb, which exploded in a burst of white light and smoke. In the murkiness, he hastily retreated to Kel'Thuzad's mocking laughter.

"Fool!" Rikimaru chastised himself as he dashed away from his humiliating defeat. The Lich must have anticipated the attack and placed wards about. It was his own overconfidence that led to the failure. Fool!

He stopped running for a moment and leaned against a large tree. He rubbed his chest, trying to dispel the chills of the spell before. The short fight before had frazzled his nerves. Though well-versed in many manners of martial combat, he was not one for long confrontations. He had not the stamina.

It was then he realized something was wrong.

The forest was too quiet.

A dagger flew out from the foliage and Rikimaru rolled to the right. A second dagger shot at him just as he got up. The Satyr tried to dodge it but was not in time. The dagger plunged deep into his left arm.

Rikimaru cried out and hurriedly wrenched the dagger out of his arm, his eyes scanning his surroundings desperately. He was being hunted… but by whom? The forest itself was dark, making it harder to spot out his assailant. The enemy must be very adept at hiding and the odds were not good. Should he retreat? He took a deep breath. No, the enemy could already see him, he might as well face the hunter.

"Show yourself!" he called out into the darkness, unsheathing his Stygian once more. He heard a rustle of leaves from behind him and turned. A figure walked out from bushes, clad in Elvish armor and wielding a enormous glaive. For some reason, Rikimaru could not focus on the figure, its appearance and colors seemed to mix about, disorientating him.

"You're an assassin too," said Rikimaru. The hunter remained silent.

In a sudden move, the armored fighter appeared in front of the Satyr. Rikimaru raised his weapon just in time to deflect the massive glaive. Steel clashed and the force threw Rikimaru several feet into the air. He landed hard on the ground but managed to hold his balance. His mind was racing. What just happened? One moment the enemy was still far away from him, the next he was right there! And he still could not focus well on him! This was not good.

The attacker lunged at him once more, with no less speed than before. Rikimaru threw a smoke bomb at him and ran to meet the charge. The bomb exploded and white light flared, casting shadows all over the battleground. Running with all his speed, the Satyr slammed into the opponent, sending them both flying. Quickly, he rolled away just as the assassin got up. Rikimaru clutched the hilt of his Stygian tighter. He could do this! He made ready for another charge.

The lack of strength struck without warning. Rikimaru felt as if the ground was swallowing every ounce of strength he had in his body. His legs quivered from sudden strain and his Stygian dropped to the ground from nerveless fingers.

Poison! Rikimaru finally realized. The blade that injured him must have been laced with poison! He cast a glance at the enemy, who stood silently away from him. With a groan, the small warrior collapsed. He could not move at all and his vision was growing darker. It was then he saw the assassin standing above his fragile body.

"Poison is coursing through your veins now. You will not live much longer," the figure said to him, then disappeared from view. So she was a woman, Rikimaru thought calmly just as the darkness closed over him.

Magina breathed hard as he leaned his weight on his uninjured right leg. His arms and body were crossed with cuts, each bleeding slightly, signs of a battle that was too even. His crescent blades seemed almost too heavy to lift. Yet lift it he must.

He glanced at his opponent, who was perhaps suffering as he did. Terrorblade, self-proclaimed Soul Keeper, was also bleeding from numerous light wounds – the result of many close shaves in battle with his brother. There would be many more to follow.

Magina wearily lifted one of his blades, noting the slight crimson tinge that stained that giant weapon. He had tried to keep his rage in check. He had tried very hard to follow Purist's orders when the battle began, dutifully staying close to his troops when the Scourge attacked. There, he had slashed and cut, twisted and turned in so many ways, all to prevent the Scourge forces from taking a step nearer to their base. Yes, he had kept his cool for that period of time.

Until he sensed his brother.

Without even a hint of regret, he leapt past the advancing ghouls, and cut a way towards the winged demon. A war was a war. But revenge was something else all together. His brother sensed him as well, lifting his own crescent blades in time to catch Magina's attack. Terrorblade jumped away and Magina followed. Soon, they found themselves away from the main fight, alone to face their demons.

"I can barely recognize you Makorvi. The stench of corruption surrounds you," Magina had said, hatred dripping from every word.

His brother laughed unkindly. "Makorvi… that is a name I have not heard for a long time brother… a weak name," he had replied, "I am known as Terrorblade now, the Soul Keeper. And I have gained such power as you would never know."

Magina spat. "You have dishonored our family! I am here to bring back your head!"

"Do not face me Magina. I have no connections with you anymore… to fight me… is to die. There will be no quarter," warned Terrorblade.

Magina would not be cowed. He had traveled too far, done too much… to get to this point in destiny.

"Prepare yourself brother," he had said right before he charged.

The Anti-Mage readied himself for another attack. The duel had been hard and fast. While Terrorblade was physical and magically stronger than Magina, the wily fighter was much faster than his brother. All he needed was one good strike.

"Look at us Magina… two blind Elves battling to the death while our allies attempt to destroy each other. It's almost funny," Terrorblade laughed. He lifted his two blades as well.

Magina gave a humorless grin. "Almost. Are you trying to distract me with bad jokes now? It will not work you know."

"You always had no sense of humor brother," Terrorblade sighed – and ran at Magina, who strafed to the right in a circling maneuver. Without warning, Magina suddenly jumped at Terrorblade, blades flashing. However, the Soul Keeper was ready and moved to his left, Magina's weapon missing his jugular by a hairsbreadth.

Magina turned for another attack, just as a bright green tendril crashed into his body. He stood stock-still, realizing he was unable to move! Worse, his whole body seemed to be weakening, as if his life was draining out of it.

Terrorblade grinned evilly and walked nearer to the now-fallen elf. His green light emanating from his hand grew brighter still.

"I warned you brother… you are not my match. You have the fighting skills yes... but not the magic prowess of mine!"

The Anti-Mage raised his head and smiled weakly. Even that required much strength now… but he had other aces up his sleeve.

"Spell-shield," he rasped. A translucent bubble suddenly appeared and wrapped itself around him, cutting off Terrorblade's draining tendril. Terrorblade, caught off guard, tried to bring up his weapons. Magina rushed him, his trailing left crescent blade slicing into Terrorblade's groin and with the last of his strength, pulling it upwards and out of the Soul Keeper's shoulder in a spray of blood.

Terrorblade's face was still masked in shock when his body fell to the ground. Blood crept over the green grass, a gruesome palette of colors that Magina could not see. He stood over his brother's body and relished in his victory. Honor had been regained! He could concentrate on the battle for his homeland now! Wearily, the warrior walked back towards the battle lines, determined to aid his allies.

He heard the glaive rather than saw it, feebly raising his weapons up to block it. But he was too late. Razor-sharp meshes of steel slammed into his neck. It cut through flesh, muscle and bone, erupting on the other side in a splatter of blood not unlike Terrorblade's demise. Magina died instantly.

The female assassin gave a flick of her glaive, sending droplets of blood all over the grass beneath her, as if a gentle rain. She stared impassively at her ex-lover's ruined body, then down at the Anti-Mage's decapitated body. She gave a sly smile and lightly walked on, melting into the shadows once more.

The battle was not going well at all, Purist thought. Sure, it had begun spectacularly. Yurnero's charge had halted the advancing army long enough for his forces to hit them in the river. There, the main skirmish was fought, every soldier desperate to push back the invaders. And yet, slowly, inexorably, the enemy might began to force his troops back. They were currently at the first tower, and the situation was grim.

"Purist! The centre!" Luna's voice soared above the chaotic din and reached his ears. The Omniknight immediately turned and saw a gap appearing in the front lines. With a yell, he charged in, his broadsword crashing into one ghoul's neck. He ripped the sword out of the dead creature and slashed out at two more that took its place. Orange flame leaped over him and tumbled into the enemy lines in an explosive inferno. Heat washed over all the combatants. Purist risked a glance back and saw Lina Inverse, her brows furrowed in concentration to cast the next spell. Suddenly, her arms shot out and a blazing phoenix erupted from her fingers. With a screech, it soared over the battlefield, raining fire and death at the Scourge forces.

We can still do this, Purist thought, and impaled another ghoul with his sword. As long as they kept their spirits up, they could still hold. That was before he saw the Butcher lumbering up to the front lines. He watched in horror as the Butcher crashed into the front lines, a gigantic cleaver sweeping aside treants without pause.

The lines buckled. The Scourge were through!

The Moon Priestess appeared out of nowhere, her Nightsabre snarling viciously. She was alone in the gap, yet she looked invulnerable in her full armored regalia.

"Not ever!" he heard her scream and her deadly glaive flew from her hand, running down any ghoul unlucky to be in its way. Her Nightsabre swiped at several of them with its wicked-looking claws, valiantly defending her mistress when Luna started the beginnings of a spell.

"Lucent Beams!" she finally cried out and there was rush of wind. Purist had seen this spell before but it never failed to amaze him. The sky opened up and many bright lances pierced through it, each beam vaporizing an enemy in a brilliant bombardment. More treants came up behind her and the line held firm once more.

We only have to hold, Purist thought like a mantra, only to hold.

Yurnero stepped aside nimbly, dodging a dazzling blue bolt that Nessaj threw. The duel had been long and arduous, with neither side able to penetrate the other's defenses. Yet, Yurnero was tiring and the Chaos Knight hardly seemed fazed at all.

Nessaj suddenly launched a series of frontal slashes, each one stronger than the first. In reflex, Yurnero raised his sword to block them. Steel clashed onto steel and sparks flew. Yurnero jumped back and with a sudden riposte, thrust his weapon at the brute. Deftly, Nessaj blocked it and punched Yunero hard in the face, knocking him off his feet. Yurnero rolled away just as a sword pounded into the ground where he had been. He scrambled to his feet and warily faced his opponent again.

Suddenly, Nessaj broke into a hearty laugh. "I expected more Juggernaut! Come on! Where is that spirit of yours?" His eyes gleamed with malice, "That Pandaren proved better sport than you are."

Yurnero's eyes narrowed. "You are a dead man," he said and raised his blade. Nessaj grinned and lifted his own.

Yurnero jumped into the air, his sword raining down onto the other man. Nessaj quickly blocked and turned for a counter-attack, swinging his weapon hard and fast. The wiry Orc landed lightly on the ground and without pause, dropped to his knees. His hand shot out and silver flashed. The Chaos Knight flicked his head instinctively and the short sword merely grazed his cheek rather than impale his eye. Seeing that the attack had failed, Yurnero leapt back, raising his sword in a defensive posture again.

Nessaj stared hard at the Orc, his hand caressing his cut cheek. He could feel blood seeping from the wound.

"Well done," he said softly, "well done indeed." He stopped touching his wound. "Let's make this much more interesting shall we?"

Yurnero watched as the Chaos Knight brought his weapon to his face and closed his eyes. Was this a trick? Now would be a perfect time to attack! The air shimmered before Nessaj and before Yurnero's unbelieving eyes, the warrior split into four exact copies!

"What witchcraft is this?" he exclaimed.

"My kind of craft," Nessaj…all four Nessajs said at the same time and with identical voices, giving an eerie effect. "Now then," they all said, "let's try this again."

In a single move, they closed onto Yurnero's position, seeking to surround him. If they did, Yurnero thought, he would be dead in an instant. He sprinted away from them, seeking to outrun them if they ever got too close. Still, he could not run away forever. There had to be a way to strike him down! Then, in a moment of clarity, he knew what he had to do.

He slowed his run and glanced backwards. They were gaining on him. Good. Taking a deep breath, he waited until they were only several feet away from him, then jumped heavily onto a tree trunk in front of him. He followed up with a massive leap off the tree and above the group of pursuers, his sword held high. The first strike cleaved one of them into half, the copy disappearing in a flash of blue light. He twirled around and slashed at another knight, who blocked the blow hastily. Yurnero kicked out at him and swung again, this time decapitating him neatly. He vanished as well. A sharp pain bit into his side as a sword stabbed into him. Yurnero grunted and pulled away, turning as he did so. Using the momentum, he rammed his body into the attacker, forcing him back. His sword swept up, slicing off the knight's right arm, the downward slash finishing him off with another flash of light.

A bolt of thunder slammed into his head, knocking Yurnero off his feet and to the ground. He lay there for moments, dazed. The world was swimming but the Orc knew he had to get to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nessaj, the _real_ Nessaj, walk calmly towards him. Yet Yurnero's body refused to move. Exerting the last of his strength, he reached for his short sword and stabbed himself in his leg. The pain was excruciating and the Orc could barely stop himself from crying out. But it was strong enough to send feeling into his body again.

"Die Orc!" Nessaj's voice came from behind. Yurnero turned around, his hand reaching out. The Chaos Knight's sword sliced into his arm, rending through muscle and bone. Yurnero immediately twisted his ruined arm, lodging the sword tight in his arm, then with all his might, slammed his own blade deep into Nessaj's chest.

All was silent for several seconds. Nessaj stared at the panting Juggernaut, hatred clearly showing on his face, before his eyes rolled back and his bleeding body fell heavily on the dirt under his feet.

Yurnero got up slowly, his good hand dropping his sword and gripping Nessaj's terrifying blade still speared in his arm. When he pulled the sword out, pain unlike ever felt before fired his body. With a cry, he flung the blade away and leaned against a nearby tree.

There, vengeance was done. It was over.

There was a whistle in the wind. Instinctively, Yurnero ducked just as a dagger thumped in the tree just above his head. He rolled away from the tree as two more silver daggers struck where he had been. He picked up his sword with his good hand.

"Very impressive," a voice said from the woods, where, Yurnero could not discern. It was a female voice. A figure appeared from the right. A black shadowy figure that the Orc could not actually focus upon. No… it was all a trick of the eyes, a play of the light. He closed his eyes and cleared his mind. Then he opened them again and this time, really focused. The image before him steadied and a female Elf appeared before him. She was wearing dark armor similar to Luna's, only much more sinister. She held a ringed glaive in her hands. A dark helm masked her face but he knew who she was.

"The Phantom Assassin. I thought you were merely a rumor," he said.

"And that is how I would like to stay. Yet, you intrigue me. You bested the Chaos Knight and can yet, in your state, avoid my attacks," she praised, her voice low and husky, "A most worthy of prey indeed Juggernaut."

The situation was most grim, thought Yurnero. The Phantom Assassin had extraordinary skills, and was deadly to the extreme. He on the other hand was wounded badly. The outcome was certain. Yet he could not run.

"Then come at me assassin! I will be your opponent!" he called out, displaying more bravado than he actually felt.

She smiled and disappeared. _Behind!_ Yurnero's mind screamed and he turned. The assassin's glaive echoed off his own and Yurnero was knocked back. Thwarted, she flung out her glaive once again. Yurnero blocked desperately, the impact sending him flying. He crashed onto the ground with a cry of pain, then promptly got up. He could not stay still for a second! The Phantom Assassin gave a freezing smile and launched herself at him with a bloodcurdling cry. Yurnero brought up his own sword but the block was bad. To his horror, his blade flew out of his hand and landed on the ground several feet behind him.

"So this is the end," the assassin purred, readying herself for the final strike, "Goodbye."

A smoke bomb landed directly at her feet and detonated in flashes of light and smoke, leaving the woman disorientated and dazed. Rikimaru watched proudly at his bomb go out, and then collapsed to the ground.

"Go," he breathed and died.

In the confusion, Yurnero rushed the assassin, punching her hard in the nose, followed by a massive kick in her gut. She fell to the ground but would not be down for long. Quickly, he scrambled towards his weapon, bringing it up just as the woman appeared above him, her glaive raised above her head.

His sword crashed into her ribs, slicing through the armor and ripping her body in two. What was left dropped onto the grass, still twitching in its death-throes. A reddish puddle began to form.

Yurnero fell to his knees, leaning heavily on his bloodied blade. He was breathing hard and knew he had to get some form of medical treatment soon. He was at his limit. He looked stonily towards the dead Satyr, the hero who had saved his life. Then, with a sigh, turned his gaze towards the assassin. Her helm had fallen off, revealing a smooth face of ethereal features.

She was quite beautiful.

It was close to dusk before the Scourge army finally ceased their assault. By then, the first tower had fallen, forcing Purist's army back into the Whispering Woods. It was a sound strategy and the retreat was organized. Both sides needed rest and with the tower gone, they could not hold the river anymore. Here at least, thought Purist as he took off his battered helm, they had terrain advantage. A Night Elf offered him a wineskin and Purist gratefully accepted it. He opened it and lifted it over his head. Fresh, cool water washed over his hair and face, running along his bloodied armor, hopefully washing some of it away. He drank several mouthfuls of the water, emptying it before returning it to the waiting Elf.

Purist set his gaze over the many campfires surrounding him. They were like stars, each one representing a dream that many of these people shared. Purist snorted. He was more suited to being a bard than a warrior. He made to move towards a nearby campfire when he heard a rustle in the bushes behind him. He turned, sword already out, senses flaring.

"It's only me!" Traxex called out. She walked towards Purist, who lowered his weapon in recognition.

"Don't do that," he chided, "I could have hurt you."

Traxex's laugh twinkled into the night air. "I don't think so… you were always not that great with a sword."

Purist laughed along and reached out for her. Traxex smiled and took his hand, drawing herself close to him. They stood like that for a while, soaking in each other's closeness, staying strong against the memories of the battle before.

"I've failed," the Omniknight finally said, "I've failed everyone… the tower fell."

"It wasn't your fault."

"It was. I should have stood against Pudge. I might have been able to stop him," said Purist, recalling the events that had led up to the first tower's demise.

Pudge the Butcher had led the attack against the tower, savagely killing any that stood in his way. Right behind was the brutal Magnataur, cleaning up any that survived the carnage. Together, they had stormed the tower, destroying pieces of the structure at an alarming rate. Seeing the danger, Purist had attempted to stop the duo, running towards them with Lina and Luna behind him.

"The Magnataur!" he had shouted, pointing at the blue-skinned creature. The Magnataur had his eyes closed and was waving his gigantic axe over his head in the midst of spell-casting. Purist had run at him, determined to stop him while Lina began her own chanting. Luna had reached the Magnataur first, her glaive shooting through the air at him. But the creature's hide was hardened and thick, the glaive bouncing off it without much effect. He continued chanting. Then came Purist, his sword gleaming in the sunlight and with a bestial yell, thrust the sharp tip into the Magnataur's body. The sword pierced deep into his flesh…and stuck there. The Magnataur gave a deafening bellow and turned towards Purist, who was still struggling to pull his sword out. The Magnataur leveled his axe at the Omniknight, his eyes full of malice. The axe slid down – just as a large fiery bird crashed into him, forcing the Magnataur to the ground.

"DRAGONSLAVE!" Lina had cried out, and another phoenix launched itself into the downed general. "LAGUNA BLADE!" Lina screamed and a lightning bolt crackled out of the sky and into the Magnataur, the force of impact sending both Purist and Luna flying backwards. When Purist had gotten back on his feet, all that remained of the Magnataur was a black mass of burnt flesh, the Omniknight's sword stuck in the middle of it. Purist had dragged his weapon out, determined to finish off the second attack but had stopped when he saw what he was facing. It was too late. The Magnataur had successfully finished his spell, empowering the Butcher, making it ridiculously large. The tower was valiantly throwing its immense boulders at it but Pudge merely shrugged them off. A strike from its cleaver nearly cut the tower into half, the second strike finished the job.

Purist could not take his eyes off the monster. "How do you fight something so big?" he had sputtered.

"We don't!" Luna had shouted in his ear, releasing him from the shock, "Come! We cannot hold this position any longer! We must retreat!" Her Nightsabre loped off and he followed after. The army had retreated.

"You wouldn't have lasted two seconds with Pudge," Traxex said, determined to make Purist see sense. "You did what you could."

"I didn't even kill the Magnataur. That was Lina. That battle was a disaster. Worse, Yurnero and Magina have not returned yet. It's close to hopeless now."

"It's not over yet! Stop putting yourself dow--" Traxex stopped mid-sentence and suddenly whirled around, her bow raised and an arrow notched. "Show yourself!" she cried out.

A dark figure trudged out of the shadows, a weapon in its hand. It was breathing heavily. Traxex tightened her hold on the arrow. Purist stood beside her, his sword ready to strike.

Moonlight struck their location, revealing a familiar, if very bloodied, face.

"A little help here," Yurnero croaked weakly, and collapsed to the ground.

**Chapter Two: Interlude**

Squee was not a warrior goblin. Neither was he particularly an adept fighter. In fact, he was not brave at all, preferring to run at the sight of danger rather than face it. No, his brother was the brave one.

He studied his brother's face absently. Spleen looked exactly like him. They had the same dirty yellow eyes, unhealthy green skin and angular noses. They were conjoined twins after all, born sharing the same intestinal equipment. Goblin doctors could not separate the brothers without threatening their lives and they had been together since. Squee found it infuriating that they should have such different personalities. Spleen was a superb fighter, excelling in firing their heavy cannon, killing many enemies in large blasts. He was brave, proud and infinitely daring. He possessed so much more than the studious, quiet, cowardly Squee. Squee hated Spleen, but sadly, loved him as well.

Spleen suddenly noticed his brother staring at him and turned. "What's the matter?" he asked.

Squee shook his head hard. "Nothing much," he said, "just thinking of the battle later. My stomach seems to be a quivering mess today."

Spleen laughed, a loud one filled with life that boosted Squee's heart. "We share the same stomach brother so don't shake it too much!" He shifted the large cannon on his shoulder. Squee wondered if Spleen felt tired carrying the heavy cannon while trekking through the woods.

"How much longer do you think we have to go?" he asked his brother.

"I'm not sure… Hey! Kardel!" Spleen called out to a Dwarf walking in front of them.

Kardel Sharpeye was a Dwarven sniper, the best marksman the Sentinels had. Clad in a blue cloak and sporting a snowy white beard, it was rumored Kardel could shoot down a deer running at top speed from a thousand yards away.

The sniper heard Spleen's call and turned around. Squee had always been uncomfortable looking at the Dwarf's face. It was his right eye that unnerved him. It always gleamed unnaturally, with an intensity that sent the Goblin's heart quavering in unknown fear. There was a menacing scar below the eye.

"Yes Spleen? Or is that Squee? I never could remember," joked Kardel.

"It's Spleen, don't pretend you don't know Dwarf!" scolded his brother, "How much longer do we have to walk? We're pretty tired here. I mean, all that fighting and no rest? That's insane!"

Kardel stroked his beard thoughtfully. "You have a point. And yet we must press on lads. Look at the others, they have not rested yet and still we move on."

Squee glanced at his companions. Apart from the small number of treants and Night Elves they had in their army, several generals had joined this mission as well. Sven the Rogue Knight hovered close to them, his glorious sword _Justice_ hung loosely on his back, reflecting the sunset's rays. Lumbering behind the trio was the savage Ulssaar, a Furbolg renowned for his bravery and strength, and more feared for his hatred of Scourge minions. Striding thoughtfully beside the massive creature was the enigmatic Keeper of the Light. Squee did not know much about this entity except for his name – Ezalor, and he planned to keep it that way. Still, apart from his mysterious nature, Ezalor had proved himself very useful during battle with his strong support spells and skills. Old Furion had given his approval and that was enough for most of the other generals.

Squee turned his attention to the silent hunched figure leading the ragtag army. Old Furion the Prophet. Their leader in these dark times, and yet for all his frailty, he had led them well. While Squee trusted the Elf, he did not support this foolhardy plan of attack as the others did. When Furion brought forth the plan to destroy the Scourge's Western flank while their Eastern army held their forces, Squee thought he had gone senile. Indeed, it was a daring strategy, and one that could work. Especially if the group had an experienced bomb technician with them. Perhaps a mild-mannered, quiet, bomb-making expert Goblin like Squee would do the job.

_That fool of a brother!_

Squee sighed softly, wondering at the turn of events. He looked at his brother, who was chatting animatedly with Kardel. To be chained by a mound of flesh. It was a curse.

So the plan had gone on. Their small army set off from the Sentinel base camp, and proceeded to destroy enemy forces they came across. Furion was accurate in his calculations though. The Scourge armies had all gathered in the East, with little defense mounted on their side. The battles were relatively easy and the army suffered few losses. Two towers had fallen to their attacks so far, and the enemy's stronghold stood just ahead. Maybe there would be no need for him to fight after all.

The moon was already high above them when Furion called the party to a stop. Squee was grateful for the rest and promptly sat down. He saw the Prophet motion Kardel over, asking him to scout the area. The Dwarf nodded and disappeared into the bushes. The army took the opportunity to rest, yet remained wary of any nasty surprises. Kardel returned not long after.

"It is as you say Furion," he reported, "Tis empty as a graveyard there. No one else but a small contingent of ghouls keeping guard."

Furion nodded. "Good. This is our chance then." He turned to the crouching Dwarf, "Pass the message down. The army is to get ready for battle. We'll strike under the cover of darkness and destroy their base in a single sweep!"

When Kardel passed the message on to Squee, the Goblin received it with a large amount of dread.

"What's wrong brother?" Spleen asked his unmoving twin, "Aren't you getting ready?"

Squee looked at the backpack at his feet. In it were the many mines and bombs that constituted his trade. He gingerly picked it up, the weight settling familiarly in his arms. He hefted it onto his back and glanced at Spleen. The goblin was happily examining his cannon, searching for any loose parts. He whistled while he worked.

"Stop that!" Squee scolded softly, "They'll hear you!" Spleen looked up, then grinned and went back to his work. He stopped his whistling.

Apart from Spleen's initial music-making, the army was eerily quiet as its members made their preparations for the imminent fight. Squee saw Sven lifting Justice lightly, while Ulssaar sat alone, a midnight figure in the darkness.

Kardel crept to the Goblins' position. He had his rifle in his hand. It was a beautiful single-barreled weapon with intricate gold designs on its body. Squee had heard Kardel speak of how he implored a Dwarven Master Gunsmith for years to forge him such a weapon. It had cost the Dwarf everything he owned. Squee often wondered if it was worth it.

"You lads know what to do?" the Dwarf asked.

"We go in, place the bombs on the tower and barracks, and get the hell out," Spleen answered with a fey grin.

"I like the getting out part," commented Squee, "Is there no other way?"

Kardel chuckled softly. "You'll do fine lads. Now be ready, we strike when Furion gives the signal." With that, he moved away, checking on the rest of the army.

"You heard the sniper brother, our task is simple," reassured Spleen. Squee wasn't too sure. But then, he hardly ever was.

"We wait for the front line to handle whatever opposition there is, then slip in as quick as possible to their main structures. You handle the explosives and I'll keep our enemies off our backs. Then we run," said Spleen. He saw Squee's discomfort and patted him on the shoulder.

"We'll do fine brother. We have all the advantages here. Victory shall be ours!"

Squee smiled weakly, wishing he shared his brother's confidence. He looked up just in time to see Furion raise his hand in a signal to advance. His mouth felt dry and the queasiness in his stomach intensified. This was it.

Under the inky blackness of night, the Sentinel soldiers emerged from their hiding spots in perfect formation. They marched in unison, keeping the lines, their footfalls crunching grass beneath their feet. No one knew exactly who gave the order but their pace quickened and soon, an all out charge began. The Night Elves, treants and heroes ran down the slope, thunder in their steps, various battle-cries heralding their attack. They rushed on towards the unprotected tower and base, intent on its destruction with a savage intensity. The small force of ghouls saw the approaching warriors and stood stunned for a moment. But discipline reasserted itself and they faced the attackers, their unholy screams echoing in the night. They were swept away in moments, Sven single-handedly cleaving four of them in a single blow. Ulssaar finished off the rest. The army moved on, the tower not far now. Victory was at hand!

The first shockwave shook them all, causing many to fall to their feet. The second shockwave sent the frontline flying, Sven and Ulssaar included. The army was thrown into disarray and the charge faltered. Furion scanned the scene to see who had conjured up such magic but in his heart, he already knew who it was.

"LESHRAC!" he cried in hate. Sure enough, a figure he knew all too well appeared from beside the Scourge's tower. Leshrac the Malicious they called him. A spirit from the Netherworlds, he was once an Elven centaur-mage who had betrayed his people. He was now a tormented soul, a spirit bred on malice and rage. The translucent being now stood facing the confused attackers, his bearded face sporting a feral grin.

"Now!" the spirit called out. The night moved as shadows formed up from behind the Sentinel forces. They emerged from their sides as well – Scourge forces that severely outnumbered their own. From the front, a host of ghouls and necromancers popped out of the ground and advanced on the surrounded army.

Furion attempted to regain control of his forces. "Sentinels!" he shouted, "Form up! Do not fear them!" His mind raced as he tried to formulate a plan. Yet none came. They had no choice but to fight them all. Already, he could see the giant Lycanthrope rip into the army's right flank, death in its jaws. Right behind it was the Witch, his magic killing all who approached him, clearing a path for the Lycanthrope to do his damage. On all sides, his soldiers were battling immense numbers and losing. But he could see no way out. There was no way out! There was only one thing to do. He raised his staff and green lightning forked out of its tip, destroying a dozen enemies who strayed into its path.

"ATTACK!" he roared and the bloodbath started in earnest.

Squee jumped back just as Spleen was still aiming, jolting his calculations.

"Hey watch it!" Spleen complained and squeezed off a round. His cannon boomed and the projectile launched from its barrel into the mass of ghouls approaching them. There was a resounding crash and heat could be felt from their position. Still, hindrance or not, Squee could barely stop himself from hiding in fear. This was all wrong! Their plan of attack had failed miserably and the Sentinels had found themselves in an elaborate trap! There was nowhere to go and no way to avoid death. Several ghouls charged the Goblins. Squee gave a little shriek and picked out a bomb from his bag. He thumbed the trigger on it and threw. There was a loud explosion and when the dust cleared, the ghouls were no more. But more would come. This was a losing battle.

"Squee! We have to get to the tower!" his brother screamed over the din of battle. Squee could hardly believe his ears. Was his brother insane?

"Are you insane? That's suicide!"

"We can do it!" his brother shouted, "Get in get out. Just as we planned! We're small enough to slip through!"

Still Squee could not budge. He didn't want any of this! The noise, the clangs of steel, the wails of the dying. A crack of thunder whipped into the air, a sign of Kardel scoring another kill.

Spleen turned to him and looked him straight in the eye. "It is our only chance to live through this," he said, softer now, "We have no hope to fight it out against such numbers. Our only chance is to destroy their base and draw them in with a second blast. Look around us Squee! What other choice do we have?"

Squee didn't answer, his mind focusing on his brother's words. He was right, they had no other choice.

"Come!" Spleen pulled onto Squee before he could protest further. His legs finally unfroze and together, they broke into a run. They charged towards the front lines, his brother firing his cannon wildly, forcing the incoming ghouls to clear away. Squee struggled to keep up with his pace, tried not to fall. Fire burned in his lungs and his heart felt on the verge of exploding. Yet on they ran, through the masses, until they reached the front where the carnage was the greatest.

There was blood and bodies everywhere in every form. Body pieces were left all over and Squee could not discern the dead Sentinels from Scourge. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the noble Sven battling with the giant Sand King. The Sand King was winning, the scorpion managing to knock _Justice_ from Sven's hands. Weaponless, Sven tried to dodge its deadly pincers. His attempts had not been wholly successful, the sharp claws causing deep wounds over his arms and legs, sapping at Sven's initial God-like strength. Suddenly, the Sand King burrowed into the ground, ripping it apart, causing a minor earthquake that knocked the Rogue Knight to his knees. The beast erupted from behind Sven and rushed the fallen warrior.

"Sven!" Squee called out in warning but it was too late! A serrated pincer grabbed the man and lifted him up. The monster squeezed, a seemingly effortless movement, and its pincer simply tore the still squirming man into half. The body parts fell to the ground and the Sand King cackled in triumph. It turned its attention to the observing Goblins.

A sudden gunshot filled the night-sky and the Sand King was launched into the air, falling heavily to the ground. As it struggled to rise, Squee noticed a gaping hole at its side, blood pouring forth from it. Another thunderous crack sounded, slamming the beast to the ground next to the dead Sven. It moved no more.

"This way!" Spleen shouted, grabbing Squee's attention once more. He pulled and the two of them sprinted through a gap in the opposing forces.

Kardel sighed as he loaded a new round into his rifle. He stood in the middle of his army, as far from the enemies as he could. His position was bad but he still had some height vantage. He could take down many an enemy from here. So far, he had shot down the Sand King, but was too late to save Sven. The Rogue Knight was a good man, noble and fair. It saddened his heart to lose him. To his left, he could hear Ezalor cast another spell, sending forth a bolt of pure magic that vaporized any that stood in its way. He smiled grimly. As long as Ezalor stayed alive, he could recharge Kardel's mana-draining right eye with his magic. Kardel could kill more enemies and they could all stay alive a while longer. He peered into his scope once more, scanning the horizon and saw the Furbolg Ulssaar. He had shredded the Lycanthrope into pieces and was now decimating incoming forces in a wild frenzy. Kardel strafed his scope across the battlefield, determined to find a target. He wanted to strike down Leshrac but the spirit had hidden himself far from the fighting, casting spells of lightning from a distance.

Kardel suddenly took in a breath. He could not believe what he was seeing! He peered deeper into his scope and observed the Goblin brothers sprinting into the enemy encampment. What were they doing? Were they insane?

Then realization dawned in his ancient mind and when he finally understood what they were trying to do, the Dwarf could not help but laugh.

"Those lads will be the death of us I swear!" he said heartily and shot a ghoul that approached the brothers. He instantly reloaded and shot another one. Methodically, he began shooting any enemies that attacked the Goblins, determined to clear a way for them to finish their plan.

He saw the dark-brown Venomancer bearing down on them, its serpent flaps flaring. Without hesitation, Kardel had it in his sights and squeezed the trigger. The rifle rocked and the creature went down in a red mist, a bullet through its eye. The brothers ran on. Kardel kept firing without rest, his mana reserves disappearing with every shot. Finally, his eye could stand it no longer and his vision blurred badly.

"Ezalor!" he called out for the wizard, wanting a mana recharge but none came. Whirling about, he saw the Keeper of the Light lying dead on the ground. In front of him was another Scourge beast, its head holding the nightmarish features of a Kraken. It held a large club in its hand, blood dripping off its blunted tip.

Kardel raised his gun to shoot but the beast pointed a finger at him first. A blue light engulfed the sniper freezing his movements. Kardel willed desperately for his limbs to move but they betrayed him. With his weapon half-raised, he watched as the monster walked casually towards him. It crouched down to Kardel's height, its alien eyes peering into his own. It then raised its club high.

Run fast lads! Run fast! Kardel thought.

The club swept down.

Squee ran for his life, matching steps with his brother as they charged the enormous tower in front of them. They had been lucky so far, with no enemies even coming near them. Squee knew Kardel was looking out for them and was reassured by that fact. However, the gunshots ended after a while and Squee was worried again. Worse, he did not know if he could run any longer.

As if realizing his brother's faltering will, Spleen turned back.

"We're…almost there!" he gasped, "Keep on running!" In spite of himself, Squee smiled, recalling a not-so-fond memory of their past. Spleen had said the exact same thing as they darted towards the safety of home, chased by bullies who wanted to see if conjoined twins could be separated after all.

"You just…keep pulling!" he retorted. They ran and ran. Until there it was! The tower loomed less than a hundred feet from them. They could do this! Squee thought.

A lightning bolt sliced through the sky, striking the ground directly in front of the twins. The resulting sonic boom threw them off their feet. Squee landed hard on some rocks and he felt his shoulder give way with an unpleasant crack. Flames surged throughout his body and Squee cried out both in pain and fright. Quickly, he checked on his brother.

"Spleen… Brother!" he called out amidst gasps of pain. Spleen stirred and groaned. He got up and looked at Squee. There was a nasty gash above his left eye and blood flowed freely down his face.

"Wha…what hit us?" said Spleen unsteadily. He tried to clear the blood off his face. Squee searched the field for their assailant. There! The familiar form of Leshrac hugged near the tower. He had his arms in the air and was chanting another spell. Squee could feel electricity in the air.

"Spleen! Move!" he warned and pulled at the Goblin. There was a rumble and another bolt of lightning crashed out of the sky. The brothers were thrown away once more, landing heavily on the ground.

Squee scrambled to his feet and made to run. But his brother's weight drew him onto the earth again.

"Spleen! We have to go!" Spleen did not answer. Nor did he move. "Spleen?" Squee urged again. He reached out and shook his brother. Spleen's head flopped towards him, his eyes staring glassily ahead.

"No," whispered Squee, pressing his fingers to the Goblin's neck. There was no pulse.

"No," he repeated, "Nonononononononono…NO DAMN YOU! DON'T YOU DIE ON ME! SPLEEN!" He railed at his lifeless brother, hitting him with his small fists, daring him to strike him back. "WAKE UP DAMN YOU WAKE UP!" he screamed. Still, the dead Goblin would not move. He could only stare at the beyond where he had gone. He would not come back.

Squee touched his brother's face, angry tears rolling from his eyes onto it. His brother was dead. War had claimed his twin brother, the one who had kept him strong. Who was he without his brother? Who was Squee without Spleen?

_Run free brother, _said a voice softly in his mind. It sounded painfully like Spleen.

"Brother!" Squee called out in despair.

_Run free…_

In a state of surrealism, Squee stared lovingly at his brother, his gaze wandering down his eyes, to his charred body, to the wicked knife by his hip. He took the knife into his trembling hands and looked at his reflection in the blade. Then in a single fluid motion, he slashed at the flesh that connected the twins together. Excruciating pain stabbed into his stomach but Squee gritted his teeth and cut on. After several agonizing minutes, the deed was done. Torrents of blood poured out of the wound and Squee felt light-headed from the loss. But he didn't care. Not of the pain. Not of anything but his brother's words.

_Run free…_

He felt calm unlike never before. With a deep, dying breath, he got to his feet, and ran – leaving his brother behind. He dashed towards Leshrac, every step inducing more hurt, more flames within his destroyed innards, but his every step grew faster. He kept on running, unaware of the cries that his mouth released, caring only on reaching his destination. He saw the Scourge general turn to him, saw the ripple of the magical shockwave rush him. Squee jumped over the attack with ease and continued on. Another pulse flew from the mage, crashing into the Goblin, forcing him to the ground. In agonizing slowness, Squee got up, his breath ragged.

_Run brother run! Faster! _

He started to sprint, faster and faster, closing the distance between them in sudden quickness. Another pulse blasted towards him and Squee leapt out, just managing to grab onto Leshrac's legs.

"What are you doing you worm? Do you have a death wish?" Leshrac sneered and raised a finger at the Goblin, its tip glowing red.

Squee pulled out one of his bombs. Leshrac saw the movement and his eyes widened in realization.

"No you fool! No!"

As the soul tried to pry the Goblin off him, Squee thought of his own brief, sad, cowardly life. Now, he was hanging onto an enemy's leg, bleeding to death and fighting for a hopeless cause. It was suitably pathetic. He gave a satisfied smile.

And thumbed the trigger.

White hot fire burned his world before peaceful darkness settled once more. When the fire faded, Squee thought he saw his brother standing in front of him, his face contorted in obvious pleasure.

"Not bad Squee," he thought Spleen said, "but did you have to cut us apart?"

Squee didn't know if he answered or not.

**Chapter Three: Fallen**

"Band to the right! Do not let them through!" ordered Purist as he rammed his broadsword into an enemy. He wrenched it out and decapitated another oncoming one with a wild swing. Wild swings were all he had to go by, the darkness eating at the Sentinel's accuracy. The Lich's night attack had been well-timed, the cover of darkness masking their approach. Purist's losses would have been disastrously more if not for the emergence of Yurnero. He had appeared before Traxex and him, in very bad shape, and had fallen to the ground. Purist had gone to the Orc immediately, setting his healing spells on the warrior as best as he could. Yurnero's blood loss finally stopped and color returned to his face. Soon he was able to talk again. He had news to tell.

"I did not know if I would make it out alive," he had said, grasping Purist's hand.

"What happened?" Purist had demanded, casting another healing spell on the Orc.

Yurnero waved the Omniknight away and sat up. He groaned from the strain but managed to stay upright.

"Get the troops up now! They are here!" he warned. No sooner had those words been said when an uproar flooded the night air. Purist and Traxex looked around immediately.

"Get the soldiers to their lines! Protect the tower! Hurry!" he told Traxex. She nodded and melted into the shadows. He turned back to Yurnero, who was getting to his feet now. "Yurnero, get to the back lines and stay there!"

"What are you talking about? I can fight!" he protested.

"Your arm's ruined. It needs more attention."

"My other arm's just as good."

"No, I won't allo-"

"I can fight," repeated the Orc dangerously. Purist had stared thoughtfully at him, deciding if he should just knock him out.

"Right," he had finally said, defeated, "just don't die now." He ran through the woods, aware of the Orc keeping pace with him, and entered the front lines.

He entered a world of chaos. All over the place, Sentinel forces were dying. The lines were in a mess and gaps were appearing without pause. They dared, he thought, a pit of rage burning deep within him. They dared!

With an inhuman cry, he rushed headlong into the enemy, his sword dealing death with every swipe.

"SENTINELS TO ME! TO ME!" he rallied and launched himself into the thick of battle once more. The Sentinel army suddenly regained a boost of morale and the lines held steady again. Yet for all their valor, they were being pushed back just as in the afternoon. For every Sentinel unit that perished, at least three ghouls died along with it. Still the lines retreated. Purist hastily searched the forest, looking for the cause of such strong opposition. He looked at the lines in front of the second tower where the fighting was the fiercest. A pale figure caught his eye and Purist's heart skipped a beat. It was no wonder Kel'Thuzad dared attack in such darkness. The Lich had with him a monster of the night.

Balanar, the Nightstalker fought with the Scourge! Once thought a creature of legend, Balanar was a hunter in the night. Mostly resting during the day, it was when the sun set that the Nightstalker ruled. Possessing crafty spells, claws that could rip through mail as if paper and terrifying speed, Balanar was a whirlwind of death.

Leading the Sentinel forces against Balanar was Traxex, her frost arrows deadly and sure. But for all her skill, Balanar's extraordinary senses and speed had helped him dodge every shot. The fight was in Balanar's favor and he was pressing his advantage. Traxex was in danger.

Purist tried to pull away from his line but the onslaught of fighting refused to let him go.

"Hells below!" he cursed and swept his sword upwards, cutting the arm off a ghoul. There was a flurry of movement on his left and many ghouls died.

"Glad to see me?" Yurnero grinned.

Purist laughed in relief. "Yes my friend! Now stay there! I have to go!"

"Where are you going?" the Orc asked but Purist had already left.

Balanar killed with cool efficiency, his claws destroying all they touched. There was no end to the insects he had to crush and he was fast getting bored. The skeletal Lich had promised him entertainment of the hunt if he joined the Scourge. The Lich had promised many things, things he had yet to see fulfilled. Still, it was all good as long as he could kill. What was it of the carnage that excited him, he feared he would never know. Perhaps it was a necessity of life, or a need that had to be satisfied. He grinned as he dodged another pesky arrow. Perhaps it was all in the fun! His grin vanished as he kicked aside a treant and slashed at another. That damned Lich and his promises! He was bored of trees! Only that archer was keeping him interested in the battle. She would not stop releasing her arrows even though she knew she could only miss. He was the darkness himself, a creature of the night. The arrows came to him as slow as oxcarts with his heightened senses. It was no competition. Yet she was prey, and he was a hunter. Should he hunt maybe?

It would be a worthy distraction, he thought, licking his lips with much anticipation. His aims decided, he crouched down and in a massive leap, jumped off his lines and into the thick of the Sentinel's army. All manners of weapons fell onto him but the Nightstalker easily avoided them as he sped towards the archer. In a last ditch resort, she shot out three arrows at once. Balanar ducked past two of them, the third managing to graze his cheek. He shrugged the wound off and closed the gap between them with astonishing speed. She turned to run and he howled in ecstasy. Yes… run! He thought as he chased her down. It would only make the hunt so much sweeter. In a single bound, he covered half the distance to her. The second leap brought him within arms reach. His clawed hand gripped onto her clothes and the two went tumbling onto the grass. The archer was feisty, he had to give her that. She was struggling hard against his powerful arms, trying hard to break his hold on her. He stared into her helpless eyes and relished the taste to come.

"This will certainly hurt you more than it will to me," he said slyly and opened his mouth wide, his serrated teeth shining in the moonlight. His head dipped down to her neck –

Just as a figure collided into him, knocking him clear away from the woman. He looked up at his assailant, hatred in his eyes. To have spoilt such a sacred moment. It was unforgivable! He examined his attacker – a boy in armor with a rather unwieldy sword.

"Get your paws off her fiend!" the boy said in low voice.

Balanar laughed evilly. "You will pay dearly for this boy!" he growled, and lunged.

Purist rolled to his left, Balanar's claws missing his neck by a hairsbreadth. Immediately, he launched a series of downward slashes in the hope of hitting the Nightstalker. But Balanar was too quick! He twisted too fast for Purist to follow and appeared beside him as if by magic. Purist tried to turn but the creature struck first, his claws raking the Omniknight's back, rending off armor and skin effortlessly. Purist shouted and finally managed to spin out of the attack. He swung his sword sideways, the flat of the blade catching Balanar on the chin, the creature staggering back.

Balanar stared daggers at the panting knight, his fingers gingerly caressing his bruised chin.

"Lucky strikes will be the death of you boy," he rasped and muttered words under his breath. Suddenly, Purist felt his body weaken, his mind reeling for no apparent reason. The world started spinning and he could barely stand upright. He staggered towards a nearby tree and leaned onto it. What was going on?

Balanar answered the Omniknight's queries with a menacing laugh. "A small curse to incapacitate your movements for a bit." He advanced slowly, confident in Purist's inability to fight back, or even move for that matter. "It makes my job simpler."

Purist sought for an outlet of strength as the Nightstalker steadily approached. His back burned from the wounds before and he could hardly move. He feebly raised his sword, his arms quivering from the strain.

"Pathetic indeed," said Balanar, reaching out to the knight, "Perhaps you'll finally understand why boys should never play with swords." He raised his clawed hand.

With an enormous grunt of effort, Purist rushed forth, his armored body crashing into the Nightstalker. Balanar lost his balance and fell backwards. At the same time, Purist thrust his sword blindly, its tip catching the falling monster in the gut. Purist followed through and pushed his sword all the way through the Nightstalker's stomach. Balanar finally crashed onto the earth, his body impaled by Purist's sword. His eyes still beheld disbelief as his body tried in vain to remove the stuck weapon.

"This…ca…cannot be…be… No…no!" he gasped, his arms clutching the blade tightly, his muscles bulging with his fading strength. Then they relaxed, the hands fell away to rest on stomach. Balanar moved no more, a dark stain forming on the grass under his back.

Purist leaned on the hilt of his sword, taking quick gulps of air, his body strained from the fight. He stared into the Nightstalker's accusing eyes and shook his head. He would have to retreat and heal. He could do no more here. With some difficulty, Purist removed the broadsword from Balanar's body and made towards his forces.

A cool wind blew across his face.

A cold wind.

He dived to the ground just as an ice shard thrust past where his chest had been before. Purist got to his feet as fast as he could, his sword already up in a defensive position.

He saw Kel'Thuzad grin skeletally, his hand raised outward. Bluish magical energies surrounded the gauntleted hand. Ice began to form in the air.

Purist uttered a word of magic, trying to call forth a spell of shielding. To his horror, nothing happened.

The curse! Its effects might have been wearing off but they were still potent enough to disrupt his magic.

The Lich finished his spell and an ice bolt flew from his hand straight at Purist. The Omniknight lifted his sword to deflect the spell but it was too fast, catching him full in the chest, flinging him several feet away. Icy flares spread throughout Purist's being, overloading his nerves in an explosion of hurt. He groaned aloud on the ground, unable to get up. He saw Kel'Thuzad approaching him, his magical sparks appearing once more. He knew he could not survive another blast. The man tried to get up but the movement was agonizingly slow. He would not make it!

He managed to get onto one knee just as the Lich finished his spell. The blue flashes reached a climax and the sorcerer laughed in triumph.

"SILENCE!" Traxex's voice was commanding as it entered the battlefield. A dark cloud zipped over Purist's head and washed over the Lich, disrupting his final attack. The blue energies instantly vanished into the darkness and the Lich found himself rather weaponless. An arrow glanced off his ice helm, then another off his grey armor. A third one struck through a joint and lodged into his shoulder. Purist watched as the wounded Kel'Thuzad retreated back to his forces in screeches of fury and pain.

"Are you alright?" Traxex's face appeared above the warrior.

Purist smiled weakly. "You're a lovely sight."

"And you're not," she chided and grasped his arm. "Come on, let's get you back."

With her help, Purist managed to reach the safety of their tower, which continually pelted the enemies with its boulders. The enemy, without the aid of Balanar, could not push as hard as before. As it was, the Sentinels were holding.

Purist concentrated on a healing spell and was relieved to feel energy seep into his body, treating his wounds as best as the spell could. The curse was gone it seemed and he felt better already. He turned to Traxex, who was silently watching the many skirmishes taking place.

"The enemy's falling back," he said, "We're winning."

Traxex nodded. "We are. All thanks to you." She looked at Purist and flashed a brilliant grin, "Thank you for saving me back there."

"No, thank _you_ for saving me."

The archer's twinkling laugh filled Purist's heart of longing and love.

"Of course. I am a rather competent fighter after all. Much better than yourse--"

Her words died on her lips as her chest exploded in a burst of red. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in surprise. Purist looked, stunned, at a large black _thing_ protruding out of her chest.

"Traxex!" he finally cried out, reaching out to her but her body jerked backwards as if she were a doll. There was shimmer behind her and Purist watched in absolute horror as a figure started to appear from the blackness. First there was an outline, then the spiny legs, six in all, flooded in. Like a magician revealing a gory trick, the image of Traxex's assailant popped out slowly, cumulating in a familiar beetle-like shape of the giant Nerubian Assassin. Its slit eyes stared malevolently at Purist. Its unmoving prey still dangled from its massive horns.

A fit of rage and panic gripped the Omniknight. There was no thought, only action. Time slowed for Purist as he swept his broadsword upwards, cutting the ebony horn in a clean stroke. Traxex fell to the ground. His face a mask of madness, Purist jumped high towards the Nerubian Assassin, his blade in a reverse-grip pointed directly at it. There was a sickening crunch as his sword's tip rammed into the creature's forehead, crushing through the creature's hard carapace. Splinters of shell flew out. The sword slid into soft tissue and entered the brain, wounding the insect mortally. The Nerubian Assassin reared back in a silent scream, throwing Purist off it. He landed on the ground unhurt and watched as the creature ran about wildly in spasms of intense pain. In a haze of hurt, it charged at the tower, running over any that stood in its way. But the Omniknight was beyond caring. He had moved to where Traxex laid, his arms holding her tight, his voice screaming out words of power.

When the Nerubian Assassin careened into the tower, sending the structure tumbling to the ground and killing many unlucky souls, Purist was still trying desperately to save the fallen archer. A golden nimbus had surrounded the two as he willed his healing energies into her body, daring her to awake, to live. But for all his spells' potency, they would only work on a being that still lived. Her wound had by now stopped gushing blood, but there was no hope. Traxex simply stared up at Purist with her still-surprised eyes.

Purist dimly heard a horn blare from around him. He could make out his soldiers running from the advancing army. From a distance, he saw through tear-filled eyes Luna, who was directing the soldiers to guard the rear of the retreat. A reddish muscled hand gripped onto his arm, pulling him along the ground, knocking his hold on the archer.

"NO! NO!" Purist wailed as he struggled against the hold on him, Traxex lying further and further away from him. But the grip was strong and would not falter.

"TRAXEX! TRAXEX!" he called out desperately among the noise of the retreat.

Even when the drow-ranger became just another body on the battlefield, Purist was still screaming her name.

**Chapter Four: The Maid's Song**

Day finally broke, the sun's rays blazing brightly on the survivors of the bloodbath the night before. Yet they could find no joy in its warmth. The second line of defense had fallen. All but one tower had been destroyed. The Scourge forces were at their doorstep.

Purist sat alone, still in his bloodstained armor, his sword stuck beside him in the ground. He made not a move, nor a sound. He merely stared into the distance, his mind trying to come to terms with his beloved's death. Even now, he could still visualize the shock on Traxex's face as the horn ripped into her body. He could hear his own cries and smell the sick stench of blood surrounding her fallen self. Her skin had not even cooled before he was dragged away by Yurnero. He had not spoken to the Orc since then.

A shadow fell over him. Purist looked up wearily. Luna stood before him, her Nightsabre crouching beside her. Her eyes beheld exhaustion and there were deep scratches on her smooth face.

"I have appointed temporary commanders for our new squads," she reported, "Still, we need a more decisive plan of action. The Scourge forces are not far and will arrive soon."

Purist said nothing and looked away, his head ringing with Traxex's screams.

Luna made a sound of frustration. "Will you do nothing human?" she lashed out, "Will you wallow in self-pity while the enemy approaches? This is our most dire of hours!"

Moments of quiet passed before Purist finally spoke.

"She died while I was there. I was _right there_, yet I could not save her. I could not help her!"

"Such is the price of war Omniknight, do not forget that. She was not the only one to die!" Purist did not respond. He refused to even acknowledge Luna's presence. She knew nothing. In the end, she gave a snort of derision.

"I never thought you were this weak human! Furion was wrong," she spat and stalked away.

Her words echoed in Purist's ears. She was right. He was too weak to stomach war. He was not ready for such impossible odds. All he did was to fail and lose all he loved. He covered his face with his hands in despair.

"Are things as bad as they seem here?" a frail voice whispered in the winds, "Are we doomed then?"

Purist turned to the source of the voice. There, supporting all his weight on his well-worn staff, was the Prophet Furion. But this man was hardly the same confident seer he had spoken to only two nights ago. The Furion standing in front of Purist had torn rags for clothes. His body was lined with sores and wounds, some still bleeding. His eyes spoke of loss and tragedy. The Prophet was a heart-breaking sight.

"When did you arrive?" asked Purist coldly, "How goes the war in the West?"

"I only just teleported in. I have urgent news," Furion took a deep breath and adjusted his hold on his staff. "The West… the West has fallen. The mission was a success…but at too great a cost."

"Who else has made it back to us? Sven? Kardel? Their aid will be helpful."

Furion shook his head slowly, sadly. "Everybody else perished in the blast. Only my skills saved me from a similar fate. But the task is done. The Scourge has lost their Western flank."

"Only to destroy us from the East!" Purist retorted, "We've failed Furion! We cannot hold here much longer."

"You've kept them at bay so far."

The knight snorted. "For another day perhaps. And then what? I have less than two hundred soldiers left, many hurt and all too tired to fight much longer. So many have died! Magina…Tra…Traxex… far too many have died. I cannot do this Prophet! There is a hole in my heart whose name is despair! I cannot lead us like this… not like this."

Furion limped forth and sat down next the Purist. When he spoke, his voice was gentle and kind, and filled with unattainable sorrow.

"I have seen so many of my brethren fall in this war. Every tree burnt tore a piece of my soul. I have cried young knight, sobbed and railed against Fate. When all hope was lost, I was like you. I thought I would fail. To protect so many people is a burden few are willing to take on. Those that do wish they had refused. But somebody has to do it. It is what fills up the gap our losses leave.

"I love this land, and its people and I will not let it fall. That is why I go on. That is why these people fight and die and fight again. We give our lives for others to have a future! And when all the battles are done, when our lands are free from invaders, then we will settle down on our knees. Then we will grieve… and move on.

"I need you Purist Thunderwrath. I have not the strength to lead our forces. Only you have the leadership and valor to fight the Scourge. I need you." The old Elf got up slowly and moved away from the knight.

"The enemy will not wait too long. With luck, I will see you on the battlegrounds." He hobbled away, every step blatantly painful. Several Elves ran to help him and they disappeared soon after, leaving Purist alone with his ever-increasing thoughts.

"What did he say?" Yurnero asked the approaching Luna and wished he hadn't. Her dark storm of a face had told him everything already.

"He is a fool! As all humans are! Cowardly and weak!" Luna exclaimed in fury.

"So he will not fight?"

Luna shrugged, scanning the horizon for the enemy. "I do not know. It is up to him. And no," she said as she turned to the Orc, "there was no mention of you at all."

Yurnero sighed. Purist was giving him the dreaded cold shoulder. Well it was not as if he had any choice. What was he to do? Leave the man to die? When the tower fell, all hell broke loose. The Scourge massed together and pushed their advantage. The lines broke. The Sentinels had to retreat. He had seen the Omniknight kneeling on the ground with the dead drow-ranger in his arms. With a surge of strength, he had grabbed Purist and dragged him out of the battlefield, leaving Traxex behind. Purist did not seem to have forgiven him for that.

"It was not your fault," Luna said, sensing the Orc's discomfort, "he would have died otherwise." Seeing that her words had no effect, she tried to distract him.

"Yurnero, why do you fight our war? There is no need to sacrifice your life for our cause."

Surprised by the question, Yurnero stopped mulling over Purist and tried to formulate a decent answer.

"Hmm… Justice I suppose."

"What?"

"I have to see justice done. To invade lands and kill people without honor. To rape and pillage and destroy without qualms. That to me is wrong, and I want to see justice done." He grinned, "A little simple but it works."

"Simple ideas for simple people," a voice said from behind the two. Lina approached them with a wave. She looked as tired as the other warriors and her face was smudged with soot. "To think with the brawns and not the brain… how typical."

Yurnero laughed. "Then why do you stay bounty hunter? You have your gold. You can leave whenever you want."

Lina flicked a stray hair away from her face. She gave a brilliant smile that belied little of the weariness she felt. "No point having gold when you can't spend it. I doubt the Scourge regime would be one of monetary prosperity." She grew serious, "Besides, let it not be said that Lina Inverse was one to take and leave without results."

"Well said," praised Luna, "and it has been an honor to have fought be--"

A horn blared into the air, interrupting their conversation. They instantly looked ahead, straining their eyes for the Scourge forces. Sure enough, several figures emerged from the dense foliage. More followed after.

"Get people over to the last tower!" Luna ordered the sorceress, "Help Furion there! Do not let it fall!" Lina nodded and sped away. There was another blast from the horn, more urgent this time. Yurnero glanced about him. All over the camp, soldiers readied themselves for the final battle that would decide everything. Many had already reached the two generals, getting into a fighting position, awaiting their orders.

"How many do you think there are?" asked Moon Priestess, mounting her Nightsabre.

"About two thousand I'm guessing," Yurnero replied, "Don't worry. Only ten to one odds, it isn't that bad." Yet for all his outward bravado, he felt jittery inside. He looked back at his massing troops, knowing what each and every one of them was thinking. They may not make it out alive. Not today.

Someone nudged him lightly on his shoulder and a figure walked to his right. Yurnero turned. Purist stood there, in full armored regalia, his sword in his hand. His eyes were of blue steel and his face seemed older, wiser. Then the knight turned to Yurnero and smiled. Relieved, the Orc grinned back.

Nothing needed to be said. Nothing ever had to be said.

Purist took in a deep breath and was glad he was here. Furion's words touched his soul deeply. He was right. Nothing could be gained from despair. All was his in hope and courage.

"The Scourge could number around two thousand," said Yurnero.

Purist gave a grim smile. "All the more for me then my friend." He looked around him, at his army. Every soldier was staring death in the face and would not hesitate to do so again if it meant his people were safe.

He turned back to the Scourge army waiting across the field. They had all the advantages. They were charging down, had superior numbers and high morale. His own forces numbered only two hundred, and were exhausted from the fighting before. Many were still wounded but got up to fight anyways. This battle would be the hardest and most dangerous.

Purist had never felt so alive.

He threw back his head and laughed as loud as he could, startling Yurnero.

"Let us sing a song friend!" he shouted.

"What?"

Purist sang,

"_I knew a maid, a pretty maid_

_As pretty as the stars I said_

_And when I sang my little song_

_We ran all away o! Away o!_

_We ran all the way o home!_

_We two reached home, a tiny home_

_Which had this bed, a golden throne_

_And when we fell right down and played_

_We danced all away o! Away o!_

_We danced and we played o' home_

_The door did slam, the day did break_

_Her husband thought twas a mistake_

_And when I got out all my clothes_

_I dashed all away o! Away o! _

_I dashed all away on home!"_

Purist stopped his song. Then started it again. His voice was rough and his accent bad but he didn't care. By then, Yurnero was singing it as well, his mirthful laughter mixing in with the song. The third time they did it, the entire army was singing on, a cacophony of noise that bore little resemblance to the actual song. But nobody cared. Everybody was transposing their fears, regrets, despairs into the singing. It was a celebration of the present, life. It was a cry of denial and defiance to all who craved to destroy it. A sense of invulnerability swept across them, courage filled their veins, fire burned in their hearts. They were not afraid.

The enemy horns blew on the song's fourth run and the Scourge army started marching towards the Sentinels. Still they would not stop singing until the singing was done.

Finally, the song ended. Purist glanced again at his men, strong brave men, treants and Night Elves who were willing to fight to live. He heard Yurnero still lightly humming the tune and smiled. He pointed his sword at the approaching Scourge forces and turned to his soldiers.

"That is your enemy!" he cried out. The advancing army broke into a charge, washing down the slope like a giant tide.

Purist turned his gaze back on the Scourge forces, saw the crazed monsters running down to devour them all. Let them come, he thought, I am ready! He breathed in deeply and began to run.

"KILL THEM ALL!" he bellowed, the army screaming alongside him.

Lightning cackled across the field, sending enemies flying. Furion gathered his energies once more. A flash of fire zipped past his right as Lina launched another devastating spell. Now that, he thought wryly, was a competent sorceress. And beautiful too. If he was just another century younger…

He uttered words of power and his staff spewed forth tendrils of death. Many ghouls fell, but more took their place. The ground was swarming with them. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Purist fighting alongside Yurnero, both on an unmatched killing frenzy. Furion was glad the young Omniknight had chosen to live. He had even sung that bawdy song along with the rest of the troops. It lifted his spirits and he was the better for it. Still, even with such insurmountable morale and strength, their army was outnumbered badly. Soon, the ghouls had surrounded them, determined to wipe them out. There would be no respite.

The ground rumbled, that grew stronger as time stretched on. Furion knew what the source was. He could already see Pudge the Butcher lumbering towards him, its girth towering enormously over the smaller ghouls. His cleaver swiped across, sweeping Sentinel troops away as if leaves in the wind. Furion snarled and aimed his staff at the giant.

"Begone foul thing!" Energy shot out of the staff and into Pudge's chest. But the Butcher merely shrugged it off and with unexpected speed, ran through the Sentinel lines, breaking them easily. He was less than a hundred feet from the tower. Furion darted forth immediately. If the tower fell, it was all over! Several Nightelves saw their leader charge and followed suit.

Furion launched another magical attack, only to see it strike Pudge without much effect. Pudge laughed at their pitiful attempts to stop him and merely increased his speed. He was a racing locomotive now, an unstoppable mound of flesh. Brave soldiers ran out to meet the Butcher with their spears and arrows. Claws ripped at his skin, swords stabbed into his leg awkwardly but nothing would slow the monster. He continued on and Furion did not know what to do.

"LAGUNA BLADE!" Lina's voice pierced the sky as a lightning bolt struck out from the sky straight into Pudge's frame. The shockwave was tremendous and many people went flying. But for all of the spell's power, it did not kill the Butcher though the attack had momentarily stunned the monster, buying the Sentinels some time.

A Nightsabre jumped into view, its rider casting its glaive along the monster's side. Pudge yelled in anger and stuck out its cleaver, barely missing the duo as they loped past. Furion saw Luna raise her hand and the beginnings of her spell saturated the air with magic. She would need time, Furion thought and thrust out his staff again. At the same time, a bright phoenix soared over his head to crash into Pudge, forcing him backwards. Green lightning zapped the Butcher as well.

"Lucent Beams!" Furion heard Luna cry out and the world erupted into a flash of pale whiteness. Light hailed down from the heavens, repeatedly striking the Butcher, searing its flesh but still, he held his ground.

"Fall damn you! Fall!" the Prophet cried out, unleashing yet another green bolt at him. Suddenly, his vision blurred and Furion went down on one knee. He had not yet recovered from his wounds and all the spell-casting had drained most of his mana. If he kept this on, he would die. He looked wearily at Pudge. The monster had recovered his footing and was swinging his cleaver haphazardly, which Luna's Nightsabre expertly avoided.

Then tragedy struck. With a deafening roar, the Butcher reached his bulging arm out. A silver chain snaked out, cutting through the wind at an insane speed. Luna had no time to dodge that sudden attack and the chain struck her Nightsabre at full power. The Nightsabre was flung off its feet, its rider sailing through the air and hitting the ground hard. Whether Luna was still alive Furion didn't know, but both cat and Elf laid there unmoving. Another flaming spell hit Pudge, drawing his attention. The Butcher stared menacingly at the lone sorceress and grinned. Another phoenix crashed into his chest but had little effect. Lina was tiring as well, her spells becoming weaker and weaker with every casting. Pudge lumbered towards her, not caring of the few soldiers that attempted to stop him. Furion had to do something or all would be lost.

"Help me spirits, this one last time," he pleaded and placed both palms onto the grass. He concentrated, sending whatever mana he had into the earth. The energies cajoled and encouraged, they mixed with the spirits of the earth, who aided the magic forth.

"GROWTH!" he cried and sent the power straight towards Pudge. Before his eyes, the earth beneath the Butcher cracked open. Pudge stumbled from the small earthquake but caught his balance. Then vines started creeping up the monster's legs. More and more vines grew up his legs, strong and resilient. They held onto Pudge's legs with unmovable stubbornness and kept on growing. Soon, they reached his waist and were already sprouting leaves and branches. Trunks shot up from the ground, reaching for the sky at an incredible rate. By then, Pudge was already struggling against the growth that coiled around him. He yelled and raged, tearing off branches in a frenzy. Furion saw the Butcher glance at him and their eyes met. Pudge roared.

"I WILL EAT YOU LITTLE MAN!" He strained against the entanglements, ripping away roots, his cleaver chopping off trunks with every swipe. Furion pushed himself further, pouring all his energies into the earth. The forest around Pudge responded in kind, exploding upwards, reaching higher than the monster himself.

"NOOOOO!" Furion heard the Butcher cry out. The trees finally overwhelmed Pudge, their branches tearing into his flesh, the trunks mercilessly piercing through him. Dark blood spilt over the wood as Pudge bled from more than a dozen places. A particularly sharp trunk tip punctured his chest, pushing through his lungs. Blood instantly rushed in and Pudge started choking. Furion saw his struggles weaken and weaken until finally, all his movements ceased and he was still. Only the forest remained, an emerald cage holding its grisly treasure within.

Sweat dripping freely off his face, Furion finally released his hold on the ground. "Thank you," he whispered to the spirits and grinned with elation. He saw Lina running to him and gave her a smile too. Then with a groan, he collapsed face first, a roaring in his ears, a familiar darkness surrounding him.

They were an unstoppable force, a storm of blades that killed any who approached them. Back to back, Purist and Yurnero slashed and stabbed. They kicked and charged and nobody could near them. Every time one of them suffered a wound, Purist would utter a healing spell that energized the warrior once more. They alone held the raving Scourge forces at bay.

Still, they were tiring.

"How many have we killed?" Purist gasped, slicing the neck of an enemy.

"Dunno… keep killing," mumbled Yurnero, his sword never ceasing. A ghoul snuck a claw through his defenses, slashing his cheek to the bone. Yurnero cursed in pain and jammed his blade into the attacker's chest. Golden light surrounded the Orc and the pain receded.

"We cannot keep this up!" he shouted, "You will run out of mana and we will die."

Purist grinned. "Then many will die before we do! Keep at it Orc! They will run away soon!"

The air grew cold.

Instantly, Purist pushed Yurnero to the ground and followed after. Several blue charges punched through the air above them.

"KEL'THUZAD!" Purist called out as he got up. Yurnero was on his feet as well. "KEL'THUZAD!" cried the Omniknight again. He saw the Lich's silent figure standing behind the battle lines.

"Hold the line my friend! I will be back soon!" Purist told the Orc.

"Let me come too!"

Purist shook his head. "This is my fight! Hold the line! I will return… I promise!" With a battle-cry, he crashed into the enemy, cutting and killing every which way, creating a path for himself.

"You better come back you whoreson!" Yurnero muttered at the knight's back and returned to his task with renewed vigor.

"KEL'THUZAD!" Purist struck down the last ghoul in his way. His face was matted with blood, his armor entirely soaked in it. His hand gripped his sword tightly and the blade shook slightly. He drew even breaths, cold vapor emerging from his mouth as he neared the awaiting Lich.

"This is your final stand human," said Kel'Thuzad. It was the first time Purist had ever heard the Lich speak, and his withering voice sent involuntary shivers throughout his being. "I hope you have enjoyed it as much as I have. It will end soon."

Purist would not be cowed. "For you maybe," he said loudly, "I will not fall that easily."

"I know, which makes this whole thing even more delectable," said the Lich, "That desperation and courage men show in their last hours are so sweet, they make me hunger for more. I am proud of their indomitable strength, and really do regret having to finish it so soon."

"We are not playthings for your enjoyment!" growled Purist, raising his sword.

"No," the Lich pointed a bony finger, "you are most assuredly not." A loud crack issued from the ground and Purist looked down. Too fast for him to evade, ice pierced through both his iron boots and the soles of his feet. He screamed in pain and surprise. Within moments, the ice caked over his feet, encasing them in a white prison. Because of the cold, the pain subsided, replaced by a strange numbness.

"Do not struggle too much. No point wasting your strength," advised Kel'Thuzad, watching the Omniknight attempt to break the ice with his sword. When physical strength failed, Purist cast his healing spell, the warmth of the magic melting the evil ice energies. Subsequent hits of the sword finally cracked the cold cage. With a cry, Purist wrenched his feet out of it and fell his knees. Fresh pain engulfed him and he groaned. Pulling onto his sword, he slowly got up.

"Interesting," commented the Lich in its wintry fashion, "See why I think humans are intriguing?"

Purist shouted and rushed the sorcerer. His swung his sword only to see it bounce off his frost armor. A cold bolt struck his chest and he was flung back. He hit the ground awkwardly and heard a distinct snap. Crying out in pain he rolled off his broken left arm and got to his feet once more.

"Do not fool yourself Omniknight! I cannot be hurt by a mortal such as you! I was wounded only because of that pesky archer's little spells." The Lich's eyes narrowed, "I saw her with the dead. The crows were gleefully pecking at her eyes!"

White hot rage gripped hold of Purist. Images of Traxex whirled through his mind; of them as they walked across Falkner Meadows, of that achingly sweet smile she always had for him, of her screaming.

"LIIIIIICH!" he roared and charged. Reddish magical energies swirled dangerously in front of him as he ran at the sorcerer. Another icy bolt shot out at him. It crashed into Purist's own magic and was repelled away. The Omniknight continued on. Kel'Thuzad launched a bigger frost bolt at the man. This time, the attack pierced the ward and stabbed through his shoulder, exiting his body on the other side in a spray of red. Still the man raged on, his sword sweeping across his head in a massive arc. His fury gave his attack extra strength and his blade chipped into Kel'Thuzad's icy armor. He jerked the sword back and swung again, and again, nicking bits and pieces of it.

His sword broke. It cracked neatly into half, the sharp end careening through the air into the nearby foliage. The impact knocked Purist away and he hurtled to the ground, gasping from the strain.

The Lich approached the fallen warrior. "Know your place mortal, your miracle will never come." He reached out his hand, letting the various energies collect in a ball of magic.

"Die with the knowledge that you tried."

In a sudden move, Purist leapt off the ground and with both hands, grabbed onto Kel'Thuzad's armor. Crying out in surprise, the Lich lost his concentration and his magic dissipated. Purist opened the valves of power within him. Pure holy energy poured forth from him, through his hands and into the Lich at a frenzied pace.

"Wha— What are you doing?" Kel'Thuzad shouted, trying to pull the Omniknight's hands from him. But Purist would not let go. He fought against the searing cold of the armor and the intense agony in his body. He bit back cries of pain and sent for more magic, relentlessly throwing everything into the Lich. Water trickled down the frost armor as it began to melt, Purist's magic counteracting the Lich's unholy powers.

"NO!" The Lich struggled in vain to dislodge the hold on him. "WE WILL BOTH DIE YOU FOOL!" Cracks were showing on the armor now and the dripping water had become a torrent. Finally, with a resounding crunch, the frost armor shattered to the earth. Kel'Thuzad fell to his knees, his powers fading with every second. Purist's vision was blurring but still, he would not let go.

"Please stop… please," pleaded the Lich. Its body seemed so much smaller now, its presence diminished. "Please stop…" He too was melting beneath the heat of Purist's magic. Beads of water fell of his face, eyes, mouth. The fall increased in speed and soon, water was everywhere. It was getting harder for Purist hold onto the Lich, weak as he was. But he persevered, knowing that if the Lich did not disappear totally, he would return as strong as before.

After agonizing moments, Kel'Thuzad's face suddenly folded into itself. "P…please…no…m..o…re…" he gurgled before the sorcerer's entire form collapsed with a loud splash. Water spilled onto the ground, leaving only a dull metal tiara in a puddle.

The Lich was gone.

Purist breathed heavily. Spots were appearing in his eyes and darkness threatened to take hold. As amazing as it sounded, Kel'Thuzad was no more. But the Omniknight could feel no joy. He was exhausted beyond understanding. He turned painfully and saw a ghoul staring silently at him. His eyes met its own for an instant. Then, in a single bound, the ghoul ran away from Purist, away from the main battle and out of the woods. Another followed suit and more ran off. Soon, hundreds of ghouls were running away from the Sentinel army as they witnessed their leader's fall. But Purist did not see that moment, preferring to lie down on the soft earth and let the darkness hold him.

Yurnero was at the last vestiges of his strength. He was alone now, his troops either all dead or separated from him. He flicked his blade out to catch another ghoul in the head. Fire burned in his lungs and his muscles screamed for rest. How many had he killed? He had lost count so many times. He slashed and cut at the surrounding foes. Claws raked his back and he turned in response, killing the attacker. Bodies crashed into him, upsetting his balance. He cried out and pushed back with superhuman strength. The press faltered and he had space again. It was only a momentary respite as the surge of enemies closed in again. Yurnero snarled and swung at them. Something stabbed into his right thigh, another in his back. The Orc struggled to remain upright, another slash at his legs finally forcing him to the ground.

"_Rextunag_ _Yaddeh! _Come on you bastards!" he challenged, still waving his sword wildly around, catching several who were in its way. The ghouls encircled the fallen Juggernaut, saliva dripping from their fangs, their eyes begging for flesh. Many died from his sudden strikes but still they came on.

In the end, his strength finally gave out. Yurnero could fight no longer. He could no longer kill. His sword dipped in exhaustion and it was all he had to even hold on to it.

"Come…come on…" he panted. This was the end it seemed. A sad but fitting end to a speck of a life, he thought. He dropped his shaking arm, resting the sword by his side. He looked at the coming ghouls, calculated how long it would take for him to be eaten, and closed his eyes.

"I hope you monsters choke," he cursed softly and waited for death to claim him.

Nothing happened.

Yurnero opened his eyes slowly and saw only the backs of the enemy as they scuttled away from the battlefield. He scanned the area. All over the place, the Scourge forces were running away in what seemed like panic. His eyes finally found his allies and their faces confirmed that they were as confused as him at the turn of events.

Gritting his teeth, he used his sword to drag himself up. His legs quivered from weakness but he was determined to move forward. Slowly, painfully, he limped further into the forest, stepping across bodies and more bodies. After what seemed like an eternity, he found what he was looking for. Dropping his sword, he hobbled to the lone armored figure lying on the grass. Upon reaching it, the Orc fell to his knees and turned the still body around.

"Be alive!" he whispered fervently. He placed his fingers on the body's neck and was relieved to feel a weak, but definite pulse.

"Wake damn you wake!" he shook the Omniknight, "Purist!" The knight stirred, his features wincing in pain.

Purist Thunderwrath opened his eyes.

Yurnero laughed at the sight. He could not stop laughing. Purist turned to the Orc, his eyes trying to focus on him.

"Stop… stop laughing," he said.

"You bastard!" laughed Yurnero, "You were supposed to come back!"

"What ha…appened?" Purist's voice was weak and small. It took some time for Yurnero to answer but his chuckles died down in the end. He gave the lying knight a stupid grin and tears slipped out of his eyes.

"I think we won Purist," he whispered. Then louder, "I think we won!"

**Epilogue: Years and Years**

The morning was cold as the army reached the crest of the hill. They bore the colors of red and blue and were five thousand strong. The soldiers consisted of races of all kinds: Elves, Humans, Orcs, newly-liberated Satyrs and Furbolgs and many more. They stood together, clad in various kinds of armor, all bearing multitudes of weapons – claws, swords, staves and what be. They were silent and still, ready for their General to give his orders.

A Human foot-soldier hastened to the front, where three horses stood at the edge of the crest. The soldier went to a white stallion and knelt down.

"A message General Thunderwrath!" said the man.

General Purist Thunderwrath nodded at the soldier. He was clad in shining silver armor, his cloak bearing his order's coat-of-arms. He wore no helm and had his blonde hair tied back in a ponytail that reached his shoulders. A silver chain encircled his neck, a dark blue arrowhead in the centre. A large broadsword was slung on his back.

"Speak," he said, his voice deep and sure.

"The Lady Moonfang says that her units are in position and await your command," reported the man.

"Go back to her then. Tell her we will strike soon." The soldier nodded in understanding and left them.

"The _Lady_ Moonfang is always impatient," a rough voice commented beside Purist. Purist turned to Yurnero and smiled. The Orc sat on a chestnut horse, dressed in his usual garb. His sword was in a scabbard by the horse's flanks.

A black horse sauntered near the two. On it was a woman wearing the most brilliant blue dress. Many jewelries and baubles littered her bodice. "Give her a break!" Lina Inverse scolded, "She yearns for battle like we do."

"Bah! She just wants to break in that new cat we found!"

Purist chuckled and turned his attention to the dark fortress in front of them. This was the fourth enemy base they were going to attack. At the battle for the Ancients, the Doombringer Lucifer had pulled his Scourge forces back to their already crippled base. The allied Sentinel forces had regrouped and attacked his army, wiping them out. They then advanced on various Scourge positions, managing to push them further and further back. They had liberated many other lands and their army had grown. After holding the funeral for Furion and the other fallen generals, Purist had taken control of the ever-increasing numbers of soldiers and went on the offensive. Many Scourge bases had fallen to their valor.

"Seems forbidding doesn't it?" said Lina. Purist nodded.

"Even if we win this, there are still other lands to save, more Scourge to kill," he said, "Evil still rules over our homes. But the balance is shifting a little. We can only hope to regain our lands in the end."

Yurnero began singing softly. It was an incessantly familiar tune.

Purist sighed. "Do you have to sing that song every single day?"

"You taught it to me."

Purist grinned and stared out at the enemy encampment once more. He pulled out his sword and reined his horse near. "Are we ready?"

"Always," acknowledged Lina. The Orc sneezed.

The Omniknight laughed and galloped forth. Yurnero was on his right, Lina right behind him. The army charged with the three heroes, the morning sun glinting off their armaments. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Luna's army advancing down the hill as well. He yelled a deafening battle-cry and looked forward to the fight fast approaching him.

It was a fine morning.

**THE END**

By: Ee Pin PANG


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